


I Can Feel Your Pulse in the Pages

by coldtea



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Kinda Fluffy, M/M, Not really though, Writer!Phil, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldtea/pseuds/coldtea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is a writer who can’t seem to stop including Dan in everything he writes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Feel Your Pulse in the Pages

**Author's Note:**

> HI so this is my first ever attempt at writing phanfiction so sorry that it's not that good :s Comments and kudos are appreciated.

Being a writer takes more than creativity and proper grammar usage; writers need to know a bit of everything. But I, I only know you.

Then again that’s alright because you, you’re an actor. I’ll touch up on theatre terms. You act on stage, now in real life as well. I’d call you a liar but telling the twisted truth is not considered a lie. We are more than best friends, less than what the audience expects. They are writers, in their own way. Fiction has always been popular.

I could write a story about a dentist. I helped fix your smile once, long ago. I’d like to believe we’re the only ones who can bring out a real smile from each other. I’ll learn surgical terms; title the book: “Stitching Myself Up”. Too much of me was cut to make you whole. The sequel will be called: “How Two People Became One”. If I don’t make it as a writer, I could always go into the field of health and sciences. They’ll open me up one day and find you nestled in my carotid arteries.

I’ve always wanted to be a weatherman. Warm air rises and cools in low pressure areas; descends and warms up in high pressure ones. The ocean takes longer to cool than the land. Irrelevant. The pitter-patter of raindrops remind me of your incessant tapping that covers the silence. Your smile is the light that sets your eyes afire. They make me shiver.

For all the things I share in my writing and all the pieces of me imprinted on characters, I still remain quite a mystery. In this novel, you’re the detective that reads me like an open book. The chapter about my love for you is either ripped out, or completely ignored. Maybe you have it saved for further inspection. Detectives weren’t meant to trust so easily.

I’ll learn the real constellations after you’re done creating new ones with the freckles on my back and when I find an exit from the galaxies in your eyes. At first, I thought they were black holes because they always drew me in but I never envisioned black holes as beautiful. Then again, I never thought arguments over the way toothpaste is squeezed out could make me smile. I’ll pretend that space smells like mint and the lingering stares on my lips mean nothing. Let my hopes soar too high and I’ll end up in space.

Horror stories will be based on the thought of losing you. You haunt my thoughts, scare off anyone that dares to linger there. If looks could kill, those who flutter their lashes at you would be six feet under. I know you can’t handle this genre yet still you insist in watching with me. My brain reasons out that you do this for the chance to be in my arms. I’m digging my own grave.

In the fantasies I’ve written, you feel the same way too. I’ve slayed all your dragons, though I have my own too. Is your tower that comfortable, my Prince? Let’s explore the world and venture into the unknown. Take the chance and find something better. 

A writer is not just a writer. We are musicians and time travellers. Killers and healers. We construct words meant to break and words that create. I am a writer and in relation to being one, see myself as many things but I would gladly forget how to paint words, become nobody, if I could just become yours.

I’ll drop my pen if you drop your mask.


End file.
